So, we all know that there was once a mum who lived in the south of England. We know that she was married to a Keifer Sutherland lookalike. We know that in her household, nobody ever listened to a fucking word she said, or ate anything she cooked. We know that she has PCOS, which she is currently trying to kick the crap out of its carb hating/insulin resistant ass. We know that she tries to do this by sometimes #shabammingtheshitoutoflife.

Well, today’s story finds her on her way to #bodycombattheshitoutoflife. Except she arrives at the gym to find she *dramatic gasp* hasn’t shaved her armpits…

She is faced with several choices:
1. Turn around and go home. There is no place for female body hair in the gym.

2. #bodycombattheshitoutoflife with her arms pinned to her side. (That would be well worth filming surely.)

3. #bodycombattheshitoutoflife at the back of the room, and hope she isn’t mistaken for a gorilla during any of the punching move busting.

She scratched her head, and thought: WWGGD. What Would Germaine Greer Do?

Well, she’d probably not be at the gym for a start. She wouldn’t give a shit who didn’t like her wobbly, insulin resistant ass-she’d change it for no fucker.

If she did go inside, the woman mused that Germaine would probably strip off to her bra and knickers, and march in there all pubes blazing, plaiting her leg and armpit hair as she went, while singing ‘cast off the shackles of yesterday’ as per Mrs Banks from Mary Poppins fame.

She’d probably use her bikini line hair to make a rope to gag anyone who passed comment on her hairy status.

She definitely wouldn’t wear any makeup, and definitely wouldn’t suffer the same the woman once had, of going to a spin class with last nights makeup on, and getting to the car to find most of the mascara residing just under her eyebrows, and salty sweat streaks running through her foundation.

But, as the woman was a disgrace to feminists everywhere, she chose to ignore #WWGGD What Would Germaine Greer Do? And she went home. Oh well, at least it saved the double whammy embarrassment of possibly letting out a bit of wee during a round house, plus being mistaken for a gorilla.

On her way home she was telephoned by the Keifer Sutherland lookalike.

“Guess what just happened?????” He said, sounding horrified.

“What dear, it sounds terrible,” she replied.

“A client just said ‘you remind me of someone. Someone famous,’ and I said (probably with a swaggy point and a wink) I know, is it Keifer Sutherland, I get it all the time (probably a smirk in there at this point) and she said ‘no, I was thinking of DONALD Sutherland-his father’…”

The bit of wee that didn’t get to come out at body combat, then escaped at that moment, during massive amounts of giggling and snorting that ensued…ūüėāūüėā

The moral of the story? Invest in a cap sleeved gym t-shirt so that you can indulge yourself in never shaving your armpits while having the added benefit of¬†not being mistaken for a gorilla while basking in your own hairiness. And also, that at a certain age,¬†you will come to resemble the father of the celebrity you love that everyone mistakes you for, and¬†it will be¬†really bloody funny to your younger wife…!!¬†¬†¬†¬†

So this happened: I’ve lost a stone. 14 whole lbs. Yes, me. It’s actually happened. (Ok, so my arse is still fat, but a few lbs less so, which¬†definitely makes me less of a fat bottom girl.) This was also in spite of turning up at our friends house for Burns Night with a sheer determination that no neeps and tatties would pass my lips, and nor would any alcohol, before proceeding to eat all the neeps and tatties, and a load of cheese, and drink my body weight in alcohol (um, oops…!) I¬†also went on holiday the following week, and had 2 glasses of wine, and 2 ciders in the hot tub when the children had gone to bed. It would’ve been rude not to, and there had to be some fun, because holidays with toddlers still really aren’t holidays are they (aka I really bloody needed it by the end of the day.)¬†So yea, in spite of all that!

WELL HALLEFRICKINLUJAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I honestly can’t believe it!

It means that…

After four years of the wrong information, and some serious frustration, I’ve finally found something that works.

Don’t listen when people tell you not to cut out certain foods-it might seem horrific to them, but if they’re affecting YOUR health, cut them loose.

Being insulin resistant doesn’t make it IMPOSSIBLE to lose weight. It just makes it really fucking hard.

GPs don’t know what they’re talking about when it comes to diet-always see a dietician (even if you have to pay,) and do your own research/trial and error.

You can still have a blow out every now and again, and it won’t undo absolutely everything you’ve done (which was honestly my take on it.)

The direction of this series will change a little-I was sure it was going to be about me struggling to lose anything for weeks and weeks, but now it’ll hopefully be more celebration of success, and¬†possibly needing to find solutions if I¬†reach a plateau, or any other problems.

What I’ve been eating:

Monday 

Breakfast: Cacao and coconut granola with coconut milk and coconut yogurt.

Lunch:¬†This has¬†turned into my new favourite lunch, and I’ve had it every day this week…! Raw Veg Scramble-because I have cut a lot of foods out, and made my portions quite small, I¬†want to eat more¬†raw vegetables. So I put a load in the food processor, and keep them in the fridge in a bowl, ready to throw into meals. So for this, fry off half an onion, half a pepper, and some halved cherry tomatoes in some coconut oil and garlic. Add half a tin of tuna and cook for a little longer. Take off the heat, and add generous handfuls of the¬†raw veg ‘grains,’ until you have the¬†portion size you want. To add some flavour, I’ve mixed in a dash of rice wine vinegar, because it’s sugar free. You could use soy sauce, or balsamic vinegar, but both contain sugar (although pretty marginal to be fair,) and there is soy bean in the soy sauce. But the amounts¬†you’d consume are tiny, and I’m not sure that it’d make any difference at all. It’s a really fab lunch option!

Dinner: Prawn and coconut curry with cauliflower rice.

Tuesday

Breakfast: Scrambled egg and spinach.

Lunch: Raw veg scramble.

Dinner: Courgetti with chicken in a mustard sauce.

Wednesday

Breakfast: Mixed nut ‘porridge’

Lunch: Raw veg scramble.

Dinner: Chicken and green veg fritters, with salad (I used to make these fritters with butternut squash, but since I have given up butternut squash, I made them with spinach and spring greens instead.)

Thursday

Breakfast: Cacao and coconut granola, with coconut milk and coconut yogurt.

Lunch: Raw veg scramble.

Dinner:¬†I went out to dinner for a friend’s birthday. It’s the first time I’ve been in an Indian restaurant since I started this diet… I ordered mixed spiced vegetables, instead of rice, and had a prawn malabari-prawns in a coconut and coriander sauce. Without asking loads of questions, and not wanting to draw too much attention to myself, it seemed the best option to suit what I needed!

Today:

Breakfast: Skipped it (oops) as I was late getting children to nursery, then went straight to the gym.

Lunch: Raw veg scramble.

Dinner: Mr W has requested chicken lentil curry (even though we had curry last night!) so I will make that for him, but as I’m not eating lentils anymore, I’m going to have spiced vegetables, cauliflower rice, and chicken.

I¬†haven’t done as much exercise as I’d like this¬†week, due to Mr W’s work schedule, and I’ve been a bit under the weather-I hope to be back to splitting my vajayjay in spin, and peeing my pant in Shabam, next week!

The other articles in this ‘Cysters Are Doing It For Themselves’ series, can be found below.

PCOS Has Ruined My Life

A Change Is Gonna Come… Food And Exercise Changes I’m Making

Hey Cyster, Go Cyster, Soul Cyster, Go Cyster

Why Does PCOS Always Feel Like A Battlefield… Struggles I’ve Had This Week

 

 

A serious one from me today, a little reflection of the hardest times that having a baby took me to…

There was a woman who lived in the south of England. She was wife of a Keifer Sutherland lookalike, and slave to the role of parenting-but today, she was reflecting on being slave to the role of parenting-there was a time when she never thought she’d get that far…

She remembered a time where she was handed a baby she had just given birth to, and instead of the rush of love she was promised, she felt numb. Empty, cold, nothing…

She remembered feeling like she’d made the biggest mistake of her life, but also the headfuck fear that came with that, that NOBODY MUST EVER KNOW SHE FELT THAT WAY OR THAT THOUGHT EVER ENTERED HER HEAD.

She remembered the feelings of detachment from everyday life that she started to feel, and ignoring them.

She remembered staying awake all night feeling like her heart would beat out of her chest, with the fear that she was going mad. Fear that she couldn’t look after her children. Fear that she’d failed in the one job she had had ever been sure she’d be fucking fabulous at.

She remembered the auditory hallucinations, closely followed by the visual ones.

She didn’t know how she’d work through her feelings about her body and her permanently changed status-how she’d never feel the same about herself again.

She remembered the negative intrusive thought, and how that made her feel she was a danger to everyone around her.

She remembered gagging on any food that came near her mouth.

She remembered the exhaustion-the bone aching, collapse-on-the-floor at any given second exhaustion, but also the nervous energy that made her pace for hours around the streets where she lived-terrified of being trapped inside her house, and inside her own head.

She remembered thinking that she must tell someone, but was worried that telling someone meant that she would be called crazy, have her children taken away, spend the rest of her life locked away. She started by telling the Keifer Sutherland lookalike. He smiled, and told her she’d be ok, and went with her to the Drs.

The Dr smiled at her and told her she’d be ok, and gave her some pills. He told her ‘right, there’s no need to go looking back to 1994 and digging into your past or whatever, to try and ‘find yourself’ or whatever is popular nowadays-this is normal for new parents.’ She still wasn’t ok.

She desperately phoned the out of hours Dr in the night-she couldn’t imagine how she could live a life like this, if it meant feeling like this for ever. The out of hours Dr was cross. ‘You’ve already seen a Dr about this, why are you phoning again??’ She apologised for being a nuisance-she expected a kindly response of ‘it’s ok, it’s what we are here for,’ but was met with a stony silence-the Dr was still cross evidently. The Dr threw some diazepam her way and told her she was incredibly busy. She’s never forgotten that Dr and her total lack of compassion.

She remembered when the shit totally hit the fan, and her mum came to take her children away for a few days. The relief mixed with an indescribable guilt.

She remembered a therapist-one of the nicest people she had ever met. She doesn’t remember a lot of what they talked about, but she remembered that she knew she could tell him anything, and that he eventually made her start to see light at the end of the tunnel. She feels touched by his kindness every day, and knows she will never forget him.

She remembered her heart rate slowing, keeping down her first meal, and the help of people who understood, and even those who didn’t really, but tried.

She promised herself that if she ever came through it, she’d #cherisheverymoment, but in reality, children can still be total shits, if you’re in recovery from postnatal anxiety or not-so she still struggles to #fuckingcherishallofit but she’s grateful that she got better enough to try.

She likes to write funny stories about being a parent, but the reality is, sometimes she just wants to watch Greys Anatomy in bed in her pyjamas, and cry because Denny dies (which is really shit,) and she doesn’t want to see anyone, or do anything, and she feels really quite crap. She doesn’t always feel that stuff is funny. But some of the time it is.

She wants others to know that if they feel the same way, or any way that makes them feel they want help-to keep bloody asking. Screw the shitty out of hours Dr-if they don’t get it, ask someone else. If they don’t get it, keep going. Do not stop until someone goes ‘yep-totally fucking get it-I’m sticking with you till this shit is done.’ Keep. Asking. For. The. Help. You haven’t failed, and you aren’t shit-motherhood is a head wreck and an army to help you through will always help.

Much love. xx
#TimetoTalk

In a city in southern England, there lived a woman. She was the wife of a Keifer Sutherland lookalike, and slave to the role of parent, except, hold on: Not today she wasn’t, because she had just dropped her children off at nursery!

Skipping to the car, shouting ‘FREEDOM’ in random strangers faces, she was ready to Braveheart the shit out of life. She was on her way to the gym, in a bid to regain some of her former body, which had slowly been destroyed by children, and making poor food substituions, such as wine instead of water, and Netflix instead of vegetables.

Skipping to the car, she could feel the pounds melting away already-plus, surely the burden of trying to be a good mum weighed her down by at least 3 stone? She was sure that if she weighed herself, that three stone would also have just fallen right the fuck away!

Anyway, today, she was off to try Sh’Bam-yes, she had no fucking clue either. In the car, she discovered that she could listen to the actual radio, with nobody moaning over the music, and nobody threatening to dump on demand, if they didn’t get to listen to the Horrid Twatting Henry audio book. What’s this? she mused, Radio 1?! How novel, she thought! Except she was expecting Chris Moyles, and was disappointed by the replacement-of course, she had been caught in a time warp, and had forgotten that it had been five years since she had listened to the radio with nobody screaming in her face, and Chris Moyles had fallen off the edge of the planet.

She became disheartened by the choice of music the newcomer was playing, and she suddenly remembered that Radio 1 had very strict rules about the type of music they played-the first being the song had to be less than two minutes old, the second being it had to have no staying power whatsoever.

But what was this? Outkast?? Hey Frigging Ya=TUNE!!!!!! The mum was definitely in the mood for Sh’Bamming the shit out of life now, forget Braveheart. She was going to shake it, shake it , shake it like a polaroid fucking picture. Outkast! She still couldn’t believe it! She also remebered that they were responsible for the legendary lyrics: ‘I know you like to think your shit don’t stink, but but lean a little bit closer, see, roses really smell like poo poo poo,’ which is actually a metaphor for LIFE, is it not? (Fact: original lyrics are ‘smells like boo boo boo’, which apparently means poo? Confused much? There’s entire forums dedicated to debating it, who knew!)

She further skipped into the gym, and found that Sh’Bam was a glorified Latin-American dance class, with lots of gyrating, hip thrusting, and boob wobbling-there were a few jumps thrown in, just to test the pelvic floor of the mainly postnatal women in attendance.

The mum’s dreams of shaking it like a polaroid picture were shattered into a million pieces, when her pelvic floor didn’t meet Sh’Bam standards, and she let out a bit of wee.

The moral of the story? Do your fucking pelvic floor exercises.

*I update this kind of ‘series’ on Facebook¬†if you fancy following it there!*